


Orange Jelly Fungus Really Sets the Mood

by Rivine



Category: Zone Blanche | Black Spot (TV)
Genre: "Wet Pinecone" Dick (Google Awapuhi Plant for more details), Body Horror, Does The Forest Want To Eat You Or Make You Its Avatar Or Do One Then The Other?, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Wet pinecone dick, Writing Rainbow Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 16:21:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20933162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivine/pseuds/Rivine
Summary: Fun times with the guy who's more forest than man.





	Orange Jelly Fungus Really Sets the Mood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snickfic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snickfic/gifts).

> Here's the wet pinecone gif if anyone wants it: https://i.imgur.com/CR8Y3j7.gif

The iron manacle was still clamped firmly around his wrist—the only thing marking him as Sylvain. The rest of him was only nominally recognizable as human. The general shape was right, but it fell apart on closer inspection, and Laurène was as close as it got.

The dark, coarse hair on his arms wasn’t an animal pelt sewn into sleeves, and the antlers atop his head were anchored firmly. Whether it was because they had grown out of his skull or because they had become welded to it, Laurène couldn’t tell. Either way, they didn’t come loose no matter how hard she pulled on them as Sylvain licked at her clit.

He had his head buried between her thighs, the patches of moss clinging to him soft and cool against her hot, flushed skin. Laurène gripped his antlers tighter, urging him on as she neared climax, and Sylvain made the strange, clicking chitter that had rung so hauntingly through the forest.

Laurène came, pleasure spreading through her body like ink dropped into water, making her moan and pant and shudder against his tongue.

Sylvain lifted his head as Laurène’s orgasm ebbed, then shifted himself up over her body. She let go of his antlers and grabbed at his shoulders instead, trying to help pull him onto her. The desire coursing through her hadn’t faded, and she desperately wanted to come again, and again.

He was half-crouched over her, and Laurène could smell the heavy, animal scent of him now underlying the sharp pine resin and woodsmoke. Muskier than deer, but lighter than wild boar.

He was taking too long, and Laurène had used up every last bit of patience she had before she had found him. Now all that was left was the stubbornness that kept her on his heels all these years, and with the lust that was running wild through her, that determination had a new target. Laurène pushed him to the side, rolling on top of him and pressing his back to the ground.

He made another series of clicks, putting his hands to her hips and then letting them slid down her thighs as she knelt astride him. He was a shaggy, patchwork brown all over, and it was hard to say what was disintegrating clothing and what was bark, lichen, or fur, but there was a dark pinkish shaft showing through at his crotch. It was thick, fatter in the middle and more tapered at the tip than a normal man’s penis. There were bumps on it that reminded her of a pinecone, one still green and mostly smooth before the scales opened to drop their seeds.

As Laurène wrapped a hand around it, she felt a slippery wetness. It spilled out of the creases in clear, glistening drops, trickling over her fingers and leaving her hand slick with it. It smelled sweet, like the brief heady days when spring was in full force, when every plant that had survived the snow and ice of Villefranche’s harsh winters had burst into a riot of growth, and the air itself felt alive from the force of it.

Laurène stroked Sylvain’s cock, feeling the bumps and grooves of the scales, each one pale green at the base and shading into red at their scalloped edges. It was softer than she had expected, spongey over a hard core, and her squeeze sent more rivulets of fluid running down her hand.

She sank down on it slowly, the soft ridges sliding into her bump by bump. Sylvain’s cock stretched her wider as she lowered herself onto it, but it was wet with the clear fluid, and Laurène was ready for it. She met the widest part of it with a groan, and then was past it. She was still for the space of a breath, then two, with his cock as deep inside her as it would go. Then she started to ride him.

His fingers dug into her thighs, and she braced her hands on his heaving chest to get a better angle. It felt as though the scales of his cock—or perhaps they were more like petals, it occurred to her distantly, because they were soft instead of hard and woody—were gradually flaring open as she rose and pushed herself down onto him. His cock was wider, and each bump more pronounced, as they unfurled. They rubbed against her labia with more and more friction, the slipperiness of liquid squeezed out from between their folds the only thing keeping it from turning from pleasure to pain.

At last it was too much, and Laurène’s second orgasm broke like a wave crashing over her. It sent electricity down every nerve, making her skin sing with sensation and her muscles tremble from the effort of it. Her vision blurred, but she could see each orange spot of jelly fungus glowing like neon all around them, and hear the crackle and hum of the dry leaves underneath them and the insects buzzing around them, and feel the seep of the moisture in the dark earth below the leaf litter.

The forest was alive, and it was reaching out from Sylvain under her, and it had found her, touched her, and now she was alive with it.


End file.
